


If you want blood, you got it

by nanonihilist



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Asra (The Arcana) Route Spoilers, Blood and Injury, M/M, Masturbation, Unrequited Love, julian devorak is sad as shit, so am I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22467682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanonihilist/pseuds/nanonihilist
Summary: All sensations led him to Asra. Julian hated it sometimes; hated himself for programming his brain to latch onto anyone who would interact with the fragments of his being, gathering them in one place or scattering them further even, it hardly mattered to him. Broken beyond repair, it would be a luxury for him to even hope for someone to play with his pieces.
Relationships: Asra/Julian Devorak
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	If you want blood, you got it

Making it back to his assigned room in the palace was a feat Julian didn’t think himself capable of in a situation such as this. The air felt stiff and suffocating, his heart beating to give birth to a rhythm almost as erratic as his thoughts. His restless palms found their way to the lock and shut the door close as soon as he had twisted it open. The mahogany felt cool against his heated skin, his perspiring forehead resting against the door. The back of his closed eyes still had the image of Asra looming over him, his hand weaving its way through the red-head’s wild locks, finely plastered over it. On concentrating hard enough, he could feel the sting the white-haired’s merciless pull had left on his scalp. 

Julian let out a frustrated and wanton sigh at the thought of all he could have had this evening if a certain customer had come knocking at the magician’s shop an hour or two later. This is the closest he’d ever come to receiving something, _ anything _ , from Asra other than cold rejection and half assed advices. It might not have been a sweet kiss on his lips or a promise that would last forever, but at least it was Asra’s tongue on his skin, soothing- no, rather  _ inflaming _ his wounds further. It was more than he could have ever asked for. Yet, he wanted more. And he hated himself for wanting more and more and  _ more, _ until there was not enough space left in him to store all this want. Julian was filled to the brim with desire. 

He was  _ torn _ at the edges.

Pushing himself away from the door, the red-head took his coat off with an annoyed jerk and let it pool a few steps away from him on the floor, bringing little to no difference in the prickling heat tormenting his body. The strain in his trousers made him undo the gleaming buttons on the jacket that hugged his torso so perfectly in a haste, the fresh wound in the middle of his palm stinging with a new zeal in the process. How smoothly Asra had glided his knife through the calloused palm, the metal digging into his skin almost as sharply as the white-haired’s gaze into his lust-clogged mind. Julian wasn’t ashamed of admitting the fact that he would let Asra gut him like a fish and bleed him dry if it meant the latter would look at him like he was desired, even if it was just for a moment; if it meant Asra wouldn’t pull away when he leaned in for a kiss, if it meant Asra would put his head on the red-head’s shoulder and let him be the sharer of his burdens, Julian would gladly offer up any part of himself to be scarred, knifed and bled. _Hell_ , Julian would bend over backwards if it meant Asra would hold his hand just for the purpose of slicing through it.

On approaching his desk with stumbling feet, Julian flung himself on top of it with a huff and pushed off a stack of papers to make enough room for himself. Looking down, he found his arousal pitching a rather discernible tent in his pants. The possibility that every person he passed by must have noticed it was something he couldn’t care less about even if he wanted to. He flexed his wounded hand, flinching at the action, before pressing it down on his hardness through the fabric, feeling the minute relief wash over him. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine Asra palming him ever so gently, keeping him on the edge like he always has, making a mess of him just with his feather light touches. Julian had learned to associate _every_ bit of relief and _every_ hint of pain with the magician. _All_ sensations led him to Asra. Julian hated it sometimes; hated himself for programming his brain to latch onto _anyone_ who would interact with the fragments of his being, gathering them in one place or scattering them further even, it hardly mattered to him. Broken beyond repair, it would be a luxury for him to even hope for someone to play with his pieces.

Pulling himself out of the confines of his pants, Julian sighed in relief. His thumb glided over the tip, collecting a fine layer of precum on its way. He began with a pace so slow it made him twist in his own grip. The servants and their footsteps could be heard frequenting the corridors of the palace, right in front of his study, but his urge to let out the whimpers building up in his throat was so overpowering, he could barely contain it. After all, all he’s ever been good at is letting his urges overpower his senses. Maybe if it was the other way round, he wouldn’t be sitting here jerking himself off and bleeding all over himself. 

The air smelled of cum and copper, stifling and heavy. The doctor's head was thrown back, his hips bucking up into his fist, cock wet with its own ooze and blood which had flown down to his thighs, now drying. How was he supposed to leave with a trouser so dirty certainly wasn’t a thought that had shown up even once in his delirious mind (Laundry is for later, getting off comes first). 

Fingers digging into the slit, the thumbnail scraping softly right at the base of the head, and palm squeezing at every downward stroke, Julian was seeing stars and could barely keep his whines under control. As much as this relief was needed, the fact that this could have been him and the magician in his sweet smelling shop instead of this desolate and murky study left a sour taste in his mouth. No matter how fast he stroked himself, how skillfully he flicked his wrist, however deftly his fingers moved, a certain _itch_ still persisted. The faster he went, the harder his palm stung, the more he bled, the less he felt the itch. It _still_ persisted, nevertheless. 

With a final violent tug, Julian was spilling all over himself, voice breaking into a shameless moan (that had a few servants in the corridor blush furiously and scurry away) which mellowed into a whisper resembling the magician’s name. The next few moments brought utter bliss; the dearth of consciousness and the tug of drowsiness tasting so _sweet_ in his fucked out head. But those seconds were as transient as they came and the red-head was back to reality quicker than enough. The room in his chest which was previously occupied by searing lust now reverted back to its original form, _the void_. The void of isolation; the void of dejection. 

He had jerked his cravings off out of his system; how would he do that to his _ghosts_?

**Author's Note:**

> hello :) i have come back from a writing hiatus with a s̶e̶l̶f̶-̶i̶n̶d̶u̶l̶g̶e̶n̶t̶ angsty/horny ficlet which might be a little messy since i wrote it pretty hastily. i hope y'all liked it and if you did please leave kudos and comments because your feedback is the only source of motivation for me :)   
> also follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/fycdor?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Eauthor) & [tumblr](https://enter-three-witches.tumblr.com/) <3   
> i love y'all


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